


Mage Unrequited

by HIMluv



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post-Break Up, Promises, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 22:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13109880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HIMluv/pseuds/HIMluv
Summary: Anders runs into an old friend, and feelings he thought buried resurface.





	Mage Unrequited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joufancyhuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/gifts).



> A/N: My end of a fic exchange, where we inadvertently challenged one another to write ships we never had before! I hope you like it Jo!

The darkspawn screamed as it burned, first folding to its knees before it finally keeled over to writhe in flames. Anders grinned for the first time in weeks. It felt good to use his magic again, and it felt even better to be able to do so without the glaring disapproval of the Templars. The two that had escorted him to Vigil’s Keep had perished at the hands of the darkspawn.  
  
“So sad,” he murmured, not sparing a glance for the corpses of the men who had tormented him his whole life.  
  
“Anders?” A low voice called across the room. A voice from his memories.  
  
No, he pleaded with the Maker, Andraste, anyone who might be listening in on his thoughts. Not her, not here. He turned to face her, and was greeted by the familiar long, white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes of Gwyndolin Amell. He forced a smile onto his face despite the stab in his chest.  
  
“Oh good,” he chirped. “You’ve finally arrived.”  
  
She stared at him, her pale pink lips parted in confusion. “What are you doing here?”  
  
He grimaced. “I was actually on my way back to the Circle,” he said. He sighed and shook his head. “Sadly, Biff and… Bob?” He looked back at the two dead Templars behind him and shrugged. “They didn’t make it.”  
  
The Grey Warden glanced at the Templars and then scowled at Anders.  
  
“Hey,” he said. “I didn’t sic the darkspawn on them.”  
  
She pursed her lips as if unconvinced, but nodded. “Come on,” she said, jerking her head towards the door. “We’re taking back the Keep.”  
  
“Right,” he grumbled. “Because fighting darkspawn sounds like such fun.”  
  
She smirked at him. “I could lock you in that cell and contact the Circle instead.”  
  
“On second thought, there is safety in numbers,” he said brightly. “And you’ll need a healer.”  
  
She frowned, pale brows low over her eyes. “I can manage.”  
  
He scoffed as he stepped past her and into the hall. “Please, Gwyn,” he said. “I’ve seen your healing spells. I’m surprised you haven’t died of infection already.”  
  
“Fine,” she snapped as she followed him. “Just keep the idle chatter to a minimum.”  
  
He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “Anything for you, Ice Queen.”  
  
She glared at him, but didn’t say another word as she led the way further into Vigil’s Keep.  
  
  
  


The dining hall was an austere room. Red tapestries hung from the walls, but all the Coat of Arms had been removed, no doubt stored in the basement until the Howe name was nothing but a unpleasant taste in one’s mouth. But, the food was hot and fresh, and the ale seemed to pour from a bottomless cask. It was better than camp food by all accounts.  
  
Anders took another swig of his ale, trying to ignore the slurping and belching from across the table as Ohgren guzzled at his own tankard. Nathaniel Howe had made the mistake of sitting next to the dwarf, and the regret was plain on his sallow face.  
  
“Would telling you to mind your manners have any effect?” Gwyn asked Oghren as she settled down beside Anders.  
  
“Heh,” Oghren chuckled. Then burped. “Not likely.”  
  
“I didn’t think so.”  
  
“Well, I for one, have lost my appetite,” Nathaniel snapped. He stood from the table, taking his plate with him as he left the hall.  
  
“Eh,” the dwarf said. “The ol’ Oghren charm takes a while to settle in. He’ll come around.”  
  
“Oh, no doubt,” Anders said to the dwarf. He glanced at Gwyn from the corner of his eye. “I have to say I’m surprised you left Denerim so quickly, Commander.”  
  
“Amaranthine is a city in need, and has been appointed to my care,” she replied. “Why should I linger elsewhere?”  
  
“Rumor around the country says that a particular King had caught your fancy,” he said. He shrugged and returned his attention to his plate. “I simply thought you would want to enjoy your time together without the looming threat of an Archdemon.”  
  
Oghren hissed and grimaced, but didn’t take his eyes from his flagon.  
  
Gwyn stared down at her plate. “The king made it perfectly clear that my presence in Denerim was no longer required.”  
  
Anders snapped his head around to look at her, blinking. For the first time since he’d known her, Gwyndolin Amell blushed and refused to meet his glance. “Wait,” he stammered. “You mean…?”  
  
She stood abruptly, silver hair falling to conceal her face as she did. “It appears appetites are in short supply,” she said. “Goodnight.” She said nothing more to anyone and kept her frigid gaze trained away from any curious faces as she hurried out of the dining hall.  
  
“And here I thought my manners were bad,” Oghren huffed before slamming back the last of his ale.  
  
Anders watched Amell’s retreat until she disappeared up the stairs, then turned stunned eyes to the dwarf in front of him. “What just happened?”  
  
“Heh,” the dwarf chuckled. “You just reminded the good Commander that she’s suffering from her first broken heart.” He waggled his bright red eyebrows. “Real smooth.”  
  
“He dumped her?” He asked, his voice cutting through the din of the dining hall, silencing it. Anders glanced around the room, and then lowered his voice as he leaned in towards Oghren. Getting closer to the alcohol-soaked dwarf was unpleasant at best, but inquiring minds and all that. “Why?”  
  
Oghren frowned at his empty tankard. “Why do you think, pretty boy?”  
  
He gaped at the dwarf for a moment and then groaned. “I’m an idiot,” he announced, pushing away from the table.  
  
“I couldn’t agree more,” Oghren replied. He held his flagon out towards the mage. “Pour me another while you’re up?”  
  
Anders scowled at him, snatching both his and Gwyn’s plates from the table. “Get it yourself,” he said, and then marched off to find the Commander.  
  
  
  


Gwyn’s room was easy enough to find; she was the Arlessa after all. It was a simple matter of finding the largest, most ostentatious door and knocking. Which was difficult with two plates of food, but Anders was nothing if not resourceful.  
  
“Gwyndolin,” he called, his voice lilting through the door.  
  
“Go away, Anders!”  
  
He bit back a smile; this felt like old times, when he’d had to beg her forgiveness for making fun of Jowan a little too hard. They were good memories, but painful ones too. How many nights had he wanted to stay by her side, only to be shown the door with nothing than a kiss on the cheek?  
  
“Too many,” he muttered. Louder he said, “I’ll stay out here all night if I have to. You know I will!”  
  
The heavy lock clanked as it turned, and then the door whined on its hinge as it swung inward. She glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest and her hip cocked. “What?”  
  
He held up the plates of food. “I’m sorry?”  
  
She sighed, but walked further into the room, allowing him to follow in her wake. The room was large, but just like the dining hall, it was devoid of anything that made it feel like home. Granted, Amell had been in Amaranthine for less than a day, so she could hardly have made any progress in making it her own. Still, Anders wished he could go back and snag some of her favorite belongings she’d had to abandon in order to go with the Wardens. The stuffed nug her grandmother had sent with her to the Circle would be a much better peace offering than her own abandoned meal.  
  
He set the plates down on the small table in the corner of the room and they both sat. He watched as Amell toyed with the food on her plate, but didn’t eat. He sighed.  
  
“I’m sorry, Gwyn,” he said. “My big mouth stepped in it, again.”  
  
She smiled softly. “It’s all right, Anders.”  
  
He wanted to believe her, desperately craved her forgiveness, just like he always did. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
She sighed. “There’s really not much to talk about.”  
  
“Oghren said it was because-”  
  
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Because Oghren knows the details of my love life.”  
  
Anders’ brows shot up.  
  
She laughed. “Is it so shocking that I could have a love life?”  
  
“Frankly,” he said. “Yes. All our years in the Circle you never once expressed an interest.”  
  
“Ah, yes,” she murmured. “The Ice Queen.” She took a bite of her roll and chewed thoughtfully. After she swallowed she said, “did you never once consider that I might have kept my feelings to myself because it was safer?”  
  
He tilted his head, unsure of what she meant.  
  
“If I don’t show any interest for long enough, eventually people stop trying,” she said. Then she smiled at him. “Except for you.”  
  
He looked down to conceal his pleasure at her words. “Well,” he said. “I always was the stubborn one.” He caught her watching him, saw the way the corners of her pale lips turned down just slightly, and the shadowy look in her eyes. Time to change the subject. “Are you going to tell me what happened between you and the king, or not?”  
  
Her look told him that he didn’t fool her, but that she would let him escape for now.  
  
“Do you honestly think Ferelden is ready for a mage queen?” She shook her head sadly and Anders got the impression that there was more to it than that. But, she’d let him off the hook, and he hadn’t seen her in over year. Now was not the time to push.  
  
“You deserve better than that,” he said, his voice soft.  
  
Wide, luminous blue eyes watched him, that sadness tinging them again. “It was a mutual decision,” she whispered. “It was best for Ferelden, in the long run.”  
  
He took a deep breath, and took the chance. The chance he never had the courage to take before. “I could give you better,” he whispered.  
  
“Anders,” she started.  
  
“Gwyn, you know I would.” He found the strength to meet her gaze, but it withered under the pain in her eyes.  
  
“I know,” she said. She took his hand and squeezed. “I’ve always known, but I can’t give you what you want.” She shook her head, her hair gleaming in the low firelight. “You deserve more than I can offer.”  
  
“I’d take anything you’re willing to give,” he admitted. The pain in his voice made him blush and look down at the table.  
  
“You deserve more than scraps,” she said, her voice strong. “You’re no one’s dog, Anders, not anymore. That’s the one thing I can give you.”  
  
He looked at her, her pale face framed by her silver hair, breaking his heart. He tilted his head. “The Templars will beg to differ.”  
  
“Not if you take my offer, they won’t be able to.” She smiled, and it was wolfish, the self-satisfied smile of the girl that had bester her teacher for the first time.  
  
“And just what are you offering?” Hope and trepidation warred inside him. Did she really have a way for him to leave the Circle behind? If so, why did he feel so much dread?  
  
“Join me, Anders. Become a Grey Warden, and the Chantry can never touch you again.”  
  
He stared at her. “You’re serious,” he said.  
  
“Yes.” She took his hand in both of hers. “You’ve been one of my best friends. You’ve loved me, and I didn’t deserve that devotion. Please,” she begged. “Let me give you the one thing I can: a shred of freedom.”  
  
He had to look away from the force of her gaze. It was the most animated he had seen her since they were kids, first discovering the extent of their abilities. Her hands were surprisingly warm in his, he’d always imagined her touch to be frigid, to hint at the powers she wielded so effortlessly. But she was warm, and soft, and so very alive under his touch.  
  
Could he do this? Follow her, be so close to her, day after day, knowing that he would never be anything more to her than a beloved friend? He shook his head and chuckled. How deluded was he? He had never been able to keep away from her before, why would he do any differently now? And if it meant snatching his freedom from the Chantry, he was willing to suffer a thousand heartaches.  
  
He met her eyes, his own determination hardening his features. His hand gripped hers, desperate and eager.  
  
“Tell me what I have to do.”


End file.
